A Fable about Champions

There was a diligent, God-fearing people who kept asleep in a vault, a mighty Champion that would rise up and slay their Enemy in that whenever of utmost peril.

In order to ascertain his ready Availability, the guardians of the State arranged a close watch of the slumbering Savior. This policy afforded them security, they believed, and permitted them to prosper as do those with a secret knowledge.

At the peak of their rapid growth phase, there came a time when they encountered a different set: This one, a Frivolatti believing in hedonistic Choice, and mocking Chance, and who worshipped flashbulb Circumstance, and lived by mega NegaSystems alien to a deliberate ethic.

Our conservative Homebodies perceived this Profligate lifestyle as the 'Crisis Come,' the 'Dreadful Moment'. So forthwith, they sought their dozing Ace.

With grave and awe-filled ceremony, they sang the secret chants. They reeked and retched from incense, oils, and smoke. They did the colorful and extraordinary Revival Dance!

Then, on cue, they bade the Champion, "Rise."

His Mightiness yet remained mysteriously unstirred.

At which an 'Oops' of dismay befell the throng.

Of consequences that still can be mentioned, there is a whisper that the moribund Savior did manage one sly smile, as that very night, the over-expectant believers entombed Him in myth.

MORAL: Not every Call is answered. Not every Cry is heard.